One
by kiminitodoke
Summary: I hate ten. It was ten at night when it happened. It was a ten percent chance of rain, and yet, it was pouring. Ten is the number that you love. Well, the number one is my favorite because you are the one for me.
1. Ten

Hello! I promised a sequel, and this will be one. Kind of. I never wrote a sequel so bear with me! Hope you guys like. Request, review, and enjoy! (The future chapters will have the future. Don't worry about it being just in the past).

I would like to say that our first meeting ended with smiles. It didn't. Smiling was the farthest of what I wanted to do or did. No, our first encounter resulted in you being in an unconscious state and I crying over you till my eyes lost all their moisture.

I should have let that puppy there. That way, I wouldn't have been on that street. I wouldn't have been going to the pet store to get some formula for the abandoned pup. I wouldn't have been there at all, and maybe you wouldn't have ended up like this. Maybe you would have been just fine without seeing me.

But you did. See me, that is. You should have let it hit me. I would have died but right now, riding the ambulance to the hospital, observing the E.M.T. try to resuscitate your heart, I would rather be dead. You are flat-lining, and the longer I hear that noise, the closer I am to breaking. After charging the defibrillator to 1500 volts, your heart picks up. I do not realize that I had been holding my breath until that moment your chest moves by itself. I am forced to notice my lack of oxygen when I faint.

I wake up in a bed. I move my head to the side. My parents are there, and once they see my eyes open, they stand and move over to me. They bombard me with questions and worries, but I don't pay attention to any of it. The only thing on my mind is you. And I tell them. I ask them where you are, and they tell me you are in the ICU. As those words enter my head, I try to lift myself from the bed but stop because of the pain that comes from jostling the equipment embedded in my skin.

I plead with them to let me go and see you, but they resist. They say that I might have a concussion, but I know you have it much worst so I insist. My voice must have risen because a nurse comes in to check on me. She looks nice, so I beg her to just let me go to you. Just for a few minutes. Just to check if you are alright. Just to ease my sorrow. Just to see if you are alive.

She relents after I start crying again. She helps me into a wheelchair, and she pushes me to where you are. It takes only a short while until I am faced with a window. The nurse offers her hand, so I can rise from the seat. When I am on my two feet, I look in front of me. I start crying even more.

You look horrible. Bandages and wires all over you. You are bruised and broken, and it is my entire fault. I say to the nurse that I am going inside your room, but she gently tells me no. I want to ask why, but I think I know when I see your parents next you. Why would they want to see the one that caused their precious son to become like this? They wouldn't, so I leave.

I go back to my room. My mom and dad are still with me, but I want to be alone. I request my favorite sweet, and because I am in such a state, they oblige, stating that they will be gone for only a little while. I don't care. Not really. Because the only thing I cared about at that moment is you. You, who pulled me out of harm's way. You, who gave up your life for mine. You, who rescued me, a stranger.

That night, I fall asleep with a mantra playing in my thoughts. Three words that I felt with my whole being. Four syllables that made my eyes well up with more tears. Eight letters that I plan to tell you the second our gazes interlock.

I am sorry.


	2. Nine

Guys! You all make me so happy! A little love for this, and I hope it gains more. Heart of a Bachelor is doing well! Eight reviews for last chapter! Yea! Request, review, and enjoy!

It is too soon to visit, but here I am, standing in front of your door with the dessert my parents bought for me last night. I am a little afraid to step inside, so I remain loitering outside your room until someone touches my shoulder. It's your mom.

"Hello there, sweetie. Is there something you need?" Her eyes are puffy and red, but she still looks beautiful. Despite your injuries, she is radiating kindness, but I don't think she would wear that same smile if she knew the truth about me. My eyes water.

"Umm…I had some cake, and I…I thought you might like some," I fib. It's not like I didn't want her to have the treat, but my true intentions is to get closer to you. I need to see you up close to squash this distressed bubble that is occupying my stomach.

"Oh, how kind! I would love a piece, if you don't mind. Come inside," she gestures for me to enter, and I do with little hesitation. In fact, I almost sprint to your side. I hope she doesn't find my behavior suspicious.

You look worse than I thought. Your face is discolored with bruises. Your chest is bandaged while pillows prop up your leg. Yet, with all the things wrong with you, you still maintain your handsomeness. You are truly a prince. Unfortunately, you did not save a princess, but a peasant.

A throat clears behind me. I turn, trying to keep my hands steady because I don't want it to fall on the ground. Your mom is staring at me for some reason. I smile at her in nervousness, and she returns it as she steps in my direction.

She walks past me and sits beside you. With her fingertips, she brushes your hair away from your face and leans in to kiss your forehead. She looks back at me. "Do you know Sebastian? You seem to be quite worried about him." I am, but no, I don't know your son or anything about him except for the fact that he saved my life. But I don't tell her that. I couldn't, not yet.

"No. I just…heard from the nurses that he risked his life to save someone, and well," I stop, not having a valid explanation for my actions.

"Ah, I didn't realize that people are gossiping about him already. A little hero, isn't he?" She says, her voice shaking in both admiration and sadness. I can tell she is proud of you, but I know she would have rather you be in better conditions. I nod at her. "You know, he has always been this type of person. Trying to help people in the best way that he can. That is one of the reasons why he wants to be a lawyer. He wants justice for the people who need it."

By this time, she is dabbing at her eyes. I place the cake on the table, grabbing a tissue and handing it over to her. She thanks me. "I don't even know why I am reacting like this. You must think I am silly!" I shake my head. "The doctors said that he is in a coma, and that the chances of him waking up is high. It's just…I'm scared that he might not."

She is not my mother, but I give her a hug anyways. I think that if you were awake, you would be comforting her, so in your stead, I will do it. She seems a tad shocked, but she accepts my embrace.

"It's you, isn't it?" She quietly inquires. My limbs ice over. "You are the person he saved, right?" My limbs defrost, and I try to retreat from her, but her next words stop me. "I'm glad. It's seems that my son has good judgment." I pull away from her and give her a confused gaze. "I know my son would have saved anyone, but he rescued you, a good kid." I blush at her compliment.

"I am hardly a good person. Just look at him," I disagree as I hold back my tears.

"Honey, I'm sure that you are. Now, let's open that cake! I'm starving." She stands from her chair. "I'm going to go ask for some plates and forks. You wait here." She leaves the room, a little more upbeat than when I first saw her.

I take the vacant seat next to you. I reach out and carefully hold your hand. It's warm, and it is a strong reassurance to me because it means that you are still living. You mom is petrified that you won't wake up, but I don't want to think those kind of thoughts. The only thing that I am concerned about is not if you are going to wake from your comatose state, but when.

I can hear the creak of the door as it opens, so I let your hand go. I let you go, but I am not **letting** you go. Because after my apology, there is something else I want to say. Something that is going to sound cheesy and weird, but I am going to tell it to you anyhow. Something that is going to make my cheeks red.

Thank you, my princely hero.


	3. Eight

Request granted! Short like always. Sorrrrryyyy! Anyways, review, request, and enjoy!

It has been two weeks since your accident, and each day, we are here, by your side. Your father waits here with his newspaper that he pretends to read as he peeks over it to watch you. Your mother waits here, picking at the pastry or sugary treat I brought for the day while she holds your hand. I wait here, trying to focus on completing my homework assignment only to be sidetracked by you. You, who is still in a deep rest.

It is strange being so close and yet so far from you. I can hear you breathe, but the way we are, we might as well be miles apart. I am happy though, that I am allowed to be next you. Even if we all sit in you room now, your dad didn't exactly welcome me when he found out the truth. He loves you, and if it were any other kind of circumstance, I am sure he wouldn't have tried to harm me. But he was so tired and worried and distressed that when your mother introduced me three days after your hospitalization, he blew up. He didn't put his hands on me. He just threw the cheesecake at the wall and yelled at me to leave. Of course, after he calmed down with the help of your mom, he invited me back. You know, if he were to really ban me, I wouldn't listen. I would sneak in if I had to. I think if the situation were to be reversed, you would do anything in your power to see me, right?

Your bruises have faded. I am glad because I can see how handsome you truly are. You still have bandages, and your scars will be etched on your skin for a long time, if not forever, but to me, you are fetching.

"Staring at him again, Ciel?" The nurse, Meyrin, teases. She is now a friend of mine. She takes good care of you with the help of Bard and Finnian, two male nurses.

"I…No." I lie, blushing. I have an hour to myself with you before your parents get off from work. They would miss, but as teachers, they can only afford to miss so much. And yes, I do tend to keep my eyes on you a little too often than what people would deem as normal, but it is comforting to see the movement of your chest as you take in oxygen.

"Why are you lying? We both know that you are." She walks over to us, and I have to let your hand go so she can check your medication levels. "Okay, I am all done. You can go back to your hand holding."

"I wasn't holding his hand!" I protest. "I was just…checking his pulse."

"Uh huh. I totally believe you. Not like there is machine that beeps every time his heart beats." She rolls her eyes. "Well, you can go back to 'checking his pulse'." She laughs as she closes the door. I do until your mom and dad enters the room. Then I move to serve them lemon squares.

"Mmm! These are good. You have an eye for sweets, don't you?" Your mom asks. I nod. "By the time Sebastian wakens, I am going to be twenty pounds overweight!"

"You don't have to eat them, dear," your dad advises as he eats. She makes a face at him. We all laugh.

"If I don't, you will have all of them yourself. Plus, Ciel went out of his way to pick this out for us. I can't just not eat them," she justifies. "I wonder if you are going to guess Sebastian's favorite dessert."

"But you said he doesn't really like sweet things."

"He doesn't, but there is one item that he loves. It is really surprising, too, because it is not what you'd expect a future lawyer to like. But I'm not going to tell you what it is. I want to see if you can figure it out."

"What happens if I can't?" I look over to you.

"You can ask him later." Your dad chips in.

I agree to their proposition. It will be fun trying to guess what you like by myself instead of being told by your parents. It would be nice if you could tell me, but I will wait patiently for you. And not just because I feel guilty. I do, and try as I might, it lurks in my mind each time I think of you or when I see your dad fake a yawn to have an excuse to wipe his eyes or when I see your mom stuffing her face to the fullest to hold back a sob. So yes, it is guilt that keeps me here, but there is another reason why I **want** to be here. It's silly but true. Just six little words: I have a crush on you.


	4. Seven

A surprise next chapter so review and enjoy!

Today, I am uncomfortable. I shouldn't be, but as I scramble to take off my jacket, I am. How you manage to make me so flustered while in a coma, I don't know. Actually, I do know the reason, and I am glad that no one is here with us. Glad to be the only one to see what is happening to you.

I should take this as a good sign that maybe you are starting to wake up. If your body is reacting this way, it must mean something. But why did it have to be this? Why do you have 'that' and why are you making 'those' sounds? Why?

I remember your doctor saying that you are in a level II coma, meaning that you are capable of making unaware movements and noises, but this response seems a little unexpected. A little abnormal. Not to mention embarrassing.

I wish you were awake so I can ask why you are in this state. So you can tell me what kind of dream you are having, or if you are not having one at all. If you are dreaming, who is it about? Your parents never said you had someone special in your life, but you are in college. You wouldn't tell them of your one night stands or sexual adventures, but are they the ones you are dreaming about to cause you to be like this?

With no answer, I put my jacket over you, covering what needs to be covered. I am hoping that it will go away by tomorrow because your parents will be coming. I am glad that they have a mandatory workshop out of town because no matter how close you are to them, you would not want them to see 'that'.

I don't think I should be here with you. I think I might a danger to you, at the moment. I think I should leave, but I don't move. I keep my eyes on you. On your face, which is difficult because my eyes really have a mind of their own and there is only one sight they are hungry for. And I feel like such a pervert as I hear your voice. And I feel disgusted with myself as I breakout in a sweat. I feel like my crush on you is becoming unhealthy. I am becoming sick.

My coat is not doing what it is supposed to. It is supposed to hide 'it' from anyone's vision and especially from me, but it falls flat, and it is just as useless as your blanket. But I keep it there because I don't think I can remove it now or never. I'll just wait until you wake up to give it back to me. We will call it a loan of some sort. You're welcome.

I hear a knock, and I jump from the chair next to you and rush to block the door. Afraid that it might be Meyrin. Or anyone else with eyes. But I am second to late, and someone steps in, and though I would rather have no one but me see you right now, I am a bit relieved that it is Finnian, a male.

"Hey, Ciel! Just came to check on you two. How is he doing?" He good-naturedly asks, but I can't respond like I usually do. I can't make jokes like we always do. I can't so instead, I go over to sit next to you, trying to build my jacket up but not in a suspicious way so he doesn't notice. He does. "Why did you put that on him?" Without pause, he reaches for it, but I slap his hand away.

"Don't remove it." I warn as menacingly as I can manage, but I am five foot six inches kid so I think I come off as a plea. It works because he backs away from us.

"Why?" His face is serious, and it gives off a wrong feeling. He is all smiles, but because of my actions of defending your pride, I matured his childlike face in an instant.

I shake my head, not because I don't want to answer him but because the words won't form in my head. Because it is hard to breathe, let alone speak. But he takes it as me being insubordinate and snatches the jacket from you.

"Oh." Is all he says and he flings it back to original position. His blush mirrors mine. "That is why. Umm…This can happen, so don't be worried or anything. He is probably responding to internal stimulus, and I am sure it will go down." His voice is all professional.

"Does this mean something good?" I finally get the ability to speak.

"Not necessarily. Patients such as Sebastian inconsistently and without purpose react to stimuli in a non-specific manner. It does not indicate if he is any closer to coming out of his coma." My head falls down in disappointment. "I know that is not what you want to hear, but you wouldn't want me to give you false hope, right?" I reluctantly nod. "Ciel, he will wake up. It has only been three weeks." He then finishes his check-up and exits.

So now I am back to where I started. Alone with you and your problem. Alone with thoughts that a hormonal teenager would have. And I'm sorry for that. And I'm sorry that I am mad at you. And I'm sorry that I am jealous of this unknown person who has this effect on you. Who can affect you both in your unconscious and conscious world. You must love her a lot, right?


End file.
